Fifteen, Love
by Skitts
Summary: Light attempts to teach Misa tennis. Pain shortly follows. :crack!fic:


**Fifteen, Love**

**- - - - - - - --**,-- - - - - - - -

"Look, you hold your racquet like _this_. Got it, Misa?"

Misa blinked guiltily in a manner akin to that of a little kid caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar.

"Hmn? I'm sorry, what?"

Light sighed an exasperated sigh, watching as the ditzy blonde flicked her gaze upwards away from his behind and onto his face.

Jesus, Light knew he was physically attractive and all, but did Misa _really_ have to look at him like that? It was slightly unnerving and made him feel like he was some sort of sugar-sprinkled Light Yagami flavoured ice-cream sundae. He knew that if Misa ever got the chance she'd be drizzling low calorie chocolate sauce and multi-coloured sprinkles on him in a heartbeat and devouring him, bit by bit, with a teaspoon. Or any kind of spoon, really.

It was a good job cannibalism was illegal.

"Look, I want you to hold the racquet like this. You got it?" he asked the girl once more, all the while attempting to suppress the urge to throw said racquet at said girl and gnaw both her legs off.

Oh, why must all his dates end with bloodshed?

"Yeup yeup! Misa-Misa gets it! See, I'm holding it just like you showed mehs!" she nodded eagerly, all violent head-bashing accompanied by the bouncing of her blonde pigtails. Tied back with skull-shaped bobbles, no less.

Really, she hadn't even bothered to dress sensibly for the occasion. But then again, this _was_ Misa Amane they were talking about. Light couldn't exactly say he'd been surprised when she'd turned up at the tennis courts dressed from head to toe in full Gothic Lolita ensemble. A black dress with many, many layers of fine netting and ruffles like a wedding cake, numerous crucifixes slung around her neck and ripped arm warmers studded here and there with safety pins. It was extravagant, it was inappropriate and it was Misa freakin' Amane all over. The fashion model would probably go dressed as the devil's right-hand girl to a baby's christening there nobody about to stop her.

"Good," Light nodded, producing a well-worn tennis ball from a random pocket in his shorts. "Now, I'm going to serve this over the net to you and you've got to try and hit it back, OK?"

There was no reply.

"Misa!" Light snapped, "eyes on _me_, not my ass!"

"But isn't that pretty much the same thing?" asked Misa in her 'I'm-so-innocent' voice, fluttering her smoky black lashes in a manner that was evidently supposed to be a provocative. Instead, it sort of made her look like she'd got something in her eye. That, or her face was malfunctioning and she needed to go see a doctor. One of the two.

"No, it is _not_ the same thing! Now I know this may come as a shock to you, but despite my brilliant brain and vast IQ I have not yet mastered the art of teaching tennis with my derrière. Now, let me repeat what I said before veeerrrryyyy sllloowwwwllllyyyy. I hit ball over net. You hit ball back. Got that?" asked Light, eyes narrowed slightly.

Misa blinked and let her attention glide upwards towards the all-encompassing bright blue sky. Hmn, there was a cloud that looked just like a bunch of cherries… Wow. Thank Kira for small miracles.

"Um… I think I've got it…" she muttered after a few seconds deliberation, turning Light's words over in her head and, at the same time, finding great delight in the fact she'd spotted several other funky-looking clouds (including, in no particular order; a spongy-looking cloud Rem, a fluffy-looking cloud sheep, a mutated-looking cloud heart and a sexy-looking cloud Light. Oh, _squee_!)

"Good. It's hardly rocket science, you know."

Light really couldn't understand what the hell he'd been thinking when he'd rang Misa approximately thirty-six minutes ago and asked her if she wanted any coaching at tennis. Well no, he _could_ understand what the hell he'd been thinking, and therein laid the problem; he'd been thinking utter crap.

The whole thing had started with some rather melancholy musings on the teen's part about his and Misa's so-called 'relationship'. They were just too different from each other for anything to really work. Light loved intelligent conversation, but Misa wasn't an intelligent conversation kind of person - she was more of a 'z0mg wud u just luk at dat ttli kawaii dress hunni!!1elventythree!!1!' girl, all chat speak included. However, one of Light's _other _greatest loves (asides from killing criminals, thinking of numerous diabolical ways to off one certain panda-eyed detective and eating potato chips) was tennis, and the boy had thought that maybe if Misa excelled at that they'd at least have _something_ in common.

And so it was that Light found himself throwing the ball up into the air with years' of practise and natural skill, judging the exact angle to smash his racquet into the small sphere as it made it's hasty descent back towards Gods green earth. Just another little victory for gravity, to add to so many others. Damn physics.

The ball went soaring gracefully over the net like a cork from a bottle, prompting Misa to squeal in alarm as it made a swift beeline for her precious face. Her whole career at stake (who would hire a model who was missing half their face?), she flung her racquet to the floor and made a hasty retreat for the opposite side of the court, dress swirling around her thighs as she did so.

No, Light thought sadly, another sigh tearing at his lips as watched Misa run about like a headless chicken on steroids. He'd been right the first time. _What the hell had been thinking?_

"Misa, you're doing _great_ at this. Now all you need to do is try and hit the ball," Light said in a deadpan voice, watching as the girl dusted imaginary lint off her clothes and ran her orange-painted fingernails through her messed up hair. "That's fifteen, love."

"Did you just call me your _love_?!" Misa squealed.

Light fought the urge to smash his head against his racquet and won.

Barely.

"No, Misa. That's what they call it when somebody doesn't have any points in tennis. And when the two players are at a tie, it's called deuce."

"Haha. Juice… Misa-Misa likes juice!" the girl giggled, retrieving the ball from some far-flung corner of the courts. "Do I get to hit it back to Light now?"

"Well… Technically it's still my serve, but I guess you could do with the practise." _Ha. Understatement of the century._ He could've crushed all of Misa's hopes and dreams then and there and told her exactly how much she sucked at everything (life included), but he bit his tongue.And people had the nerve to call him a bad guy."Go on then, Misa, have a go. Just don't let it hit the ground."

"Okie-dokie," the pigtail'd Gothic Lolita replied, throwing the ball up into the air exactly as Light had only moments before.

_Whoosh._

**Smack.**

**Thunk!**

Pain.

Strangely enough, the last thoughts registering in Light's mind before he hit the ground were '_How ironic…_'

And then everything went black.

**- - - - - - - --**,-- - - - - - - -

An evil grin began to tug at the corner of Misa's (strawberry-painted) lips as she let her pale fingers trace intricate patterns across her fallen boyfriend's face, his eyelids, his nose, the sides of his mouth, his neck... Finally her delicate probing came to an end at the boy's shoulders as she took both of them in her hands and began to shake, peering into his face to see any change in his expression (which just-so-happened to be one of immense pain. Oh yeah, and that huge, egg-sized bruise on the side of his head wasn't all that pretty either).

Satisfied that Light was still out cold, that evil grin became wider still until the creepy, Cheshire Cat smile seemed to stretch from pierced ear to pierced ear.

"Oh noes! Light is unconscious! Maybe he needs CPR to wake him up!" she declared to the empty tennis courts, the Rem-shaped clouds and the strange trees several yards away. They were only the things that were there to hear her and, incidentally, the only things to see when she bent down over Light's crumpled body and pressed her lips against his.

Misa wasn't bad at tennis – oh no. Her hand eye co-ordination was excellent and she'd always been good at hitting things (tennis balls, stalkers, people who stole her lipstick, whatever) ever since she was about _this _tall. But, if there was one thing Misa was better at than organised sports, it was playing dumb and stealing kisses.

Her cunning plan had worked _perfectly_.

**- - - - - - - --**,-- - - - - - - -

**a.n: lawlz. misa is not bad at tennis, she just let light think that so she could knock him out and give him cpr xD ahh, tennis. i remember in year 7 when we were all learning it for the first time and everybody laughed because of 'deuce'. we all called it 'juice' and thought it was the epitome of hilarity at the time xD**


End file.
